It's not all about you!
by SassyJ
Summary: Raylan and Tim are in a mess, and Tim is not doing so good. Raylan grows a clue or two about supporting your friends.


Raylan leaned forward, pressing his shoulder firmly against Tim's. It was pitch black in the trunk, he couldn't see a thing, but he could hear the panicked breathing and it wasn't as though he didn't know that Tim suffered from PTSD and had an intense fear of small, dark enclosed spaces.

It didn't help that they were both handcuffed, and crammed into the trunk of Raylan's car. The receptionist had cleared Raylan's trunk of everything, as their prisoner forced Raylan to cuff Tim, and then she'd cuffed Raylan.

The cable ties attaching the cuffs to their belts had been an additional bit of cruelty, preventing them bringing their hands in front by stepping through the cuffs. But she wasn't done with them, this was the long con with an insider helping her. Tim and Raylan were loose ends. So they were dragged outside, and shoved into the trunk, Tim nearly panicked then. Struggling against the cuffs, doing himself damage, and Raylan had moved quickly to help his teammate.

Now Tim was pressed up against him, forehead clammy against Raylan's jaw, the huffing of short panicked breaths warming Raylan's neck; they were being driven over rough ground and Raylan tried to brace himself against the sides of the trunk and comfort his shaking, shivering partner. Whispering soothing nonsense as Tim fought his demons in the suffocating space of the trunk.

Rachel's anger from the day before swept through Raylan's mind as he dug in and hung on. _It's not all about you, Raylan._ Prophetic words. Because right now this wasn't even about their fugitive pregnant inmate, or where the hell they were going, but about Tim's terror.

Raylan knew Tim had issues. What the younger man had been through, at a very young age, well hell that was going to give anyone nightmares. Despite the panicked breathing and the cold sweats Tim was holding himself together remarkably well. Better than Raylan thought he might under the same conditions.

The car came to a hard stop, and Tim and Raylan both cursed as they bumped around. "Well shit." Raylan snapped under his breath, as the trunk popped and he twisted to scowl up at their captor.

_No leg irons_, he thought bitterly, although the set up bore a startling resemblance to one Miz Jamie Berglund's escape from their custody. With one vicious twist.

Miz Louise Forget was no Miz Berglund. She was smart and organized, and in charge of her own destiny. Jamie had no intention of hurting them, just stopping them from following her. Miz Forget had made it quite clear that she would hurt them if they gave her a reason to. Since almost anything might have given her a reason, Raylan and Tim had done nothing to push her.

Getting her girlfriend to get a job as a receptionist was a nice touch.

Tim scrambling over him, rolling out of the trunk to fall heavily to the ground with a thud that made Raylan wince. Then Tim was staggering away from the car, falling to his knees, vomiting, and Raylan didn't need another gunpoint invitation from Miz Louise, he scrambled out of the trunk, a bit more carefully than his partner, awkwardly using his bound hands to push off from the trunk's edge and stagger to his feet.

Tim was still on his knees, throwing up, giving Raylan an unobstructed view of his sore, scraped bound wrists cuffed behind his back.

"Damn." Raylan swore to himself, Tim had made a mess of his wrists and they had to be hurting like hell. One more stress to add to the misery. He moved to stand next to the distressed younger man. Wincing in sympathy at each heave. So focused on his partner that he barely registered the sounds of his fugitive shooting out his tires.

"Now get out of that," Louise Forget swung into the driver's seat of a non-descript car that Raylan was sure she would ditch quickly, but noted the number anyway, her cheery little accomplice sitting next to her. Planned and neatly executed.

_Great._ Louise and her little friend pulling a _Thelma and Louise_, leaving Raylan with Tim in a bad way, and a useless car, not forgetting trussed up like a Thanksgiving Turkey.

The Town Car had Lo-Jack, but this was the Hollers, Raylan had no idea if it really worked down there. But if they went to find help, Raylan couldn't be sure whether they would run into someone who might hold a grudge against Raylan. Tied up as they were, they couldn't defend themselves.

It was hot as blazes. Tim was still on his knees, so Raylan crouched down next to him. "How y'doin'?" He said gently. Sudden noises and loud voices with Tim in this condition would be bad.

Tim sat back on his heels slowly, and Raylan could see at once that he was spent. He was shaking, and there was a glassiness to his eyes that made Raylan very uneasy. But considering he'd just heaved up what had to be breakfast, last night's dinner and possibly lunch too, that wasn't a surprise. But Tim was tough, he would keep going to the last breath and Raylan knew it.

Tim shot him a look. It was a very strained version of Tim's own brand of cock-eyed look, but it would do for a start. "Carrots." He said.

"Well thank you for that waste of a perfectly good bulletin." Raylan replied, trying desperately hard not to cast a glance at the ground and ignoring the sudden lurch to his stomach.

"I don't remember eating any carrots."

Raylan really didn't want to go there, but since this was classic Tim, reacting in a very odd way to what was for both of them a terrifying experience even though that was a fact that neither of them would ever admit to, he supposed he could play along.

"There's always carrots." He said agreeably.

"Law of the universe, huh!"

"Can we get off the subject now?" Raylan was starting to feel a bit queasy himself.

"Sure." Tim's usual drawl, which would have been comforting if there wasn't a distinct hitch in the middle of the word. Raylan decided to ignore that for the moment. Getting Tim on his feet would be a good start to gauging the situation properly.

"Can you stand up?"

"Sure." This time it was more of a strained grunt. Raylan flinched a little, that didn't sound good.

He stood up himself, staggered slightly, without use of his arms for balance he was stumbling like a drunk. Tim took longer to get his legs under him, and strained hard getting to his feet, his balance compromised by the handcuffs, but also by his physical state. The lethargic movements told Raylan that Tim really was in a bad way.

Since putting his arms around Tim to guide him into the back seat of the damaged Town Car was a physical impossibility right then, Raylan moved as close to Tim as he could get, gently nudged his partner with his shoulder and said "Let's get you sat down."

Tim shot him a look. He might have been feeling queasy and dizzy, but Tim Gutterson was not going to fold. The look made something constrict in Raylan's chest, probably his heart… okay, definitely, maybe, his heart.

_Well damn_. _That was unexpected._

Raylan nudged Tim again to get him moving, the younger man's tendency to stumble doing nothing for Raylan's worried state as he guided his partner the few feet to the car.

Yanking the door open was simple enough, Tim's descent into the backseat more of a fall than a sit, Raylan turned "scoot over." Tim scooted, well it was more of a slump than a shuffle.

Raylan folded his lanky frame into the car. Being cuffed was starting to be an irritation as well as distinctly uncomfortable, his shoulders ached and his wrists were sore. He worked his fingers a little, preferring the ache to the nasty feeling of his arms going numb, although that was inevitable if they were stuck like this for too much longer.

He checked Tim over, disturbed that he didn't seem to be doing so good.

"Tim, how'ya feelin'?"

"Fine."

One of Raylan's eyebrows arched, "wanna reconsider that bullshit answer?"

"Fine." Tim repeated a little mechanically.

Raylan was used to Tim now, starting to interpret the difference between words and body language.

He stared. The hard, practiced stare of the gunfighter, peeling away the layers of crap.

Tim's eyes met Raylan's properly for the first time since they'd arrived in this shit situation, and the cowboy marshal was instantly alarmed. Tim didn't seem to be able to focus properly, his eyes were glassier than before, the tip of his tongue kept nudging his bottom lip as if he was nervous. Only Raylan knew he wasn't nervous, he was thirsty. That wasn't good. They had no water, the heat outside the car was soaring, midday, and Tim had just hurled everything in his stomach. He was already dehydrating faster than Raylan.

_Well shit_. Raylan eased closer to his partner. The fact that Tim seemed grateful for the contact, rather than making a smart ass remark he said nothing, did more to worry Raylan than if he'd ranted.

They sat like that for a while, as Raylan tried to calculate the distance they had travelled, where they might be, and hope that Art and Rachel were on their way, and how long it might be before help arrived.

Assuming that no one else arrived first.

Tim shifted miserably, and let out a little moan.

"Tim?"

"Headache." Typical Tim response, which gave Raylan some heart. His own head was pounding. Then Tim laid his head against Raylan's shoulder and the alarm bells of Raylan's worry meter started clanging.

"Tim?" Raylan put a little more urgency into his tone.

The reply was a murmur that Raylan didn't catch, but when he glanced down, Tim's screwed shut eyes, and the grimace of pain on his face told the older man pretty much every thing he needed to know.

Raylan Givens was not a sentimental man, his life to date had given him very little acquaintance with affection, but something in him that he didn't fully recognize prompted him to rest his cheek against Tim's head.

From the way Tim nudged his cheek against Raylan's shoulder, Tim recognized the gesture and was grateful for it.

They dozed for a while, the oppressive heat doing nothing to help their thirst, and Tim was still feeling queasy so he stayed slumped against Raylan.

The crunch of tires on the dirt road behind them had Raylan jerking himself awake, a quick squint in the rearview showed Art and Rachel behind, followed by an ambulance.

"Tim." Raylan nudged his partner gently. "Help's here." Silence. "Tim." More loudly.

Tim glanced up, Raylan had a few seconds to register the stricken look on Tim's face before the younger man flopped down across Raylan's knees and then there was the sound of splatter, moans and Raylan tried very hard not to mind that Tim was being very sick in the near vicinity, as his stomach rolled in sympathy. At least it was out the door. Then Rachel was reaching for Tim's handcuffs, and Art was unlocking him, and shoulders were being rubbed, and arms and wrists too, and it all got a little jumbled then as Raylan insisted he was fine.

"You are going with the paramedics, get you both checked out, and you can stay until I come and get both of you later." Art put a very firm hand on Raylan's shoulder, as Raylan tried to get off the gurney. "Raylan Givens, you don't co-operate I'll give these nice people orders to strap you down."

Raylan shushed at that, not sure his dignity could take the hit, and allowed himself to be conveyed to the ambulance, finding Tim was already in there. Raylan figured that if he played along he could bail once they got to the hospital.

Twenty-five minutes later, Raylan had decided that Chief Deputy Art Mullen was a devious old fox. Their Chief had followed them in. Waited until the doctor checked them out, and then checked them in for an overnight stay. He didn't need to stay overnight, Tim was more roughed up than he was.

"At least you get to room together, keep Tim company."

_Great, now Rachel was talking to him as though he was six._

Tim was obediently lying in the hospital bed, eyes closed, bandaged wrists resting peacefully on his belly. Looking almost serene.

Raylan sat up for the fifth time, acutely aware of the sudden unpleasant draught from the unbecoming hospital gown that had been foist upon him.

"Where are my clothes?" He growled at Rachel.

Art appeared in the doorway, "Raylan, lie back down, you need to take care of you right now."

Tim opened an eye. Peered at his roommate, noting the pallor, looked at Art and Rachel and allowed himself a small smile. "Rach, you are so going to owe me." He whispered. "Ray…" Waited a beat until he was sure he had Raylan's attention.

"Carrots."

Raylan's eyes practically bulged, and he almost threw himself over the side of the bed, voiding his stomach contents into the steel bowl that Rachel got beneath his nose just in time.

Tim watched the results of his little experiment in auto-suggestion with a beatific smile on his face, Art raised an eyebrow, and carefully remained out of projectile range until it became apparent that Rachel was struggling to keep Raylan from falling out of bed.

"oh, fer…" Art sidestepped the vomiting and gave Raylan a push so that he landed back on the bed.

Raylan slumped back against the pillows, shaking, and shot an irritated glance at Tim. "Oh god." He groaned.

"I'm guessing that was lunch." Said the irrepressible Tim.

Raylan turned a delicate shade of chartreuse and slumped forward again in search of the bowl. Rachel obliged with a new bowl, and Raylan retched miserably.

Art waited until he was spent. "Now will you stay put?" Glaring at Tim, "and you, don't set him off again." Tim smirked.

Raylan nodded wearily, sprawled back on the pillows again. Less of a lie if he didn't speak. He closed his eyes as Rachel's soothing hand gently stroked his hair back. It felt good. Even his rebellious stomach seemed to like the gentle attention.

"Be good." Without opening his eyes, Raylan nodded again, it was even less of a lie if he nodded and wasn't looking at her. Rachel's hand curved around his cheek, and he opened his eyes. Her face was stern, Raylan tried to look appealingly innocent, and one of her eyebrows achieved a skeptical arch. He closed his eyes again, managing to remember to put in that sleepy slow blink that should have thrown her off the scent. Her hand was still resting against his cheek, her thumb gently brushing his cheekbone. Raylan pressed his cheek into her hand for a second, even if he was lying doggo, Rachel's gentle touch after the hours of heat and discomfort felt great. He made a little moan in the back of his throat when she took her hand away.

Someone dimmed the lights, and they were left alone.

Raylan waited.

His clothes were with Tim's in the closet, and he was just preparing to get dressed and go back out there, when a pained moan from Tim's bed interrupted him.

"Tim?" Another moan.

Raylan threw the blankets back, and got to his feet. He was a little dizzy which surprised him, but he put that down to losing his lunch. He crossed to Tim's bed.

His fellow deputy didn't look so good now. Tim was alarmingly pale.

_It's not all about you._ With Rachel's words ringing in his ears, Raylan sat down in the chair next to Tim's bed. It seemed a lousy thing to do to abandon Tim when he was feeling like crap.

Tim's hand reached out to grab hold of Raylan's, "you were gonna split…" He croaked.

Raylan hung his head, "yeah…" he admitted.

"Abandon me in my hour of need." The words were slurred, but the sentiment was pure Tim. Odd!

"And misery loves company!" huffed Raylan. Okay, he was going to stay for a while, until Tim finally fell asleep at any rate. It made sneaking out easier.

He settled, Tim's hand was still clasping Raylan's, and it felt nice. Raylan had no idea why that should be, but it seemed unkind to let go. He looked down at their hands, when he'd been checked out, they had bandaged his wrists with something that was supposed to reduce the inflammation and bruising. The bandages on Tim's wrists were thicker, according to the doctor consulting Art on their condition, Tim even had stitches in the wounds on his wrists, and damn didn't that just piss Raylan off. That he hadn't been able to protect his partner from getting hurt.

"Sorry, buddy." He yawned. He was so damn tired. Perhaps if he waited a little longer. He was skinny, he would fit in the space next to Tim just fine. Get a little nap before he went and he wouldn't really be breaking his promise to anyone.

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Art Mullen might have been a little old-fashioned, and he was opposed to any sort of violence to women, but Louise Forget pushed his buttons. Jamie Berglund was a victim of circumstance, Forget was no victim. Stranding Raylan and Tim in the middle of nowhere with no water, tied up like that, unable to defend themselves, well that was a special kind of cruel. If Raylan's car hadn't had lo-jack the boys could have been in a serious world of hurt. As it was they were cut, bruised and dehydrated.

Art was through with chivalry on this one. Any time he thought he might be willing to return to that point, he could always just lift his gaze to the evidence bags sitting on his desk, Tim's handcuffs still with Tim's blood on them, Raylan's cuffs, not as bloodied, but the photographs of Raylan's wrists served as a reminder. Raylan's hands were shaking when Rachel took the pictures. Raylan's hands never shook. Art really didn't want to look at the photographs of Tim's wrists.

Together Art and Rachel tore through Forget's files and known associates looking for a clue.

Any clue would do.

In the end, it was relatively simple. Forget's little receptionist girlfriend's fingerprints were in the system.

She had a grandmother with a house in Harlan County.

A long day, a shitload of paperwork, and Art and Rachel were headed back to the hospital.

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"Oh…"

Art was talking with the nurse on duty, an old friend of Leslie's, so Rachel was ahead of him as they entered Tim and Raylan's room. He shot a glance at her.

Rachel was smiling, her hand to her face, then she was scrabbling in her pocket for her phone.

"Rachel…" She put a finger to her lips.

"Ssshhhh."

He put his head around the door, and… yes, this was too good to miss.

They were side by side, facing each other, sharing the same pillow. Art had absolutely no doubt that it was going to be awkward as hell when they both woke up.

He chuckled quietly to himself as Rachel snapped a couple of quick pictures.

They were both going to be fine, although their wrists would be sore for a while, there was no lasting damage. And tomorrow was going to be a beautiful day.


End file.
